Of Foxes, Elves, and Men - Book I: That Which Threatens the Night
by ForLoveofFiction
Summary: Alec has always been rough and wild, a hellcat who chose to run with one of the most ruthless and deadly mercenary crews in the city. But to the inhabitants of Middle Earth Alec is nothing less than a mystery, her memory wiped during a heist gone wrong that lands her in a different war. For war it is - the One Ring has been found and a desperate attempt to destroy it must begin.
1. Chapter 1: The Silver Fox

**BOOK I: THAT WHICH THREATENS THE NIGHT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1: The Silver Fox**

 _It is on this wasteland of anarchy and lawlessness, this degeneration of the human race, that this, the Protectorate, has been formed to return order to chaos, to rebuild and protect that which has been torn apart by the ravages of fanatical ideologies and extremist zealotry in its misguided and ultimately destructive attempts to carve out a society in its name. To this end, all men who shall henceforth form the Protectorate must, first, above all, do everything in their power to ensure that none shall threaten the existence of the Protectorate and to ensure that its purpose and goals shall never be subverted or laid waste. No life is more precious than this goal.- Excerpt from the Protectorate Constitution_

Alec hissed. The welts and bruises on her lightly tanned skin had turned an angry red, the color a stark contrast against the black lines of the tattoos snaking around her shoulders. Gently she rotated it and swore as a sharp pain ripped through her nerve endings.

"Fuck this. Who the fuck said that this job would be a cakewalk, huh, George? Those meathead Protectorate goons were crawling all over the goddamn place like fucking maggots."

Her companion eyed her from the rear view mirror of their car. The gash that ran across his forehead had already begun to clot. George sighed. "Why don't we count ourselves lucky that we got out with only minor injuries."

"Minor? You call this minor? It's a fucking dislocated shoulder." Alec glared into the darkened streets of Zion, the megalopolis capital of the Protectorate, as their vehicle accelerated. She watched as they passed by men, women, and children, their lives blissfully ignorant of the ways their supposed all-benevolent government fucked them over day in and day out. In the darkly tinted windows her right eye, usually a stormy silver-grey, looked almost identical to her other brown one. Both of them blazed with her thinly controlled rage. She pounded her uninjured fist into the backside of the vacant seat in front of her. "I'll kill whoever ratted out this operation."

And that was it, the crux of why they were here in a stolen car, blood pooling on the leather, bodies pulled low against the seats, dodging the evening traffic in an attempt to put as much distance between themselves and what was undoubtedly an All-Points-Bullet being issued even as they spoke. It was the reason why, despite his words, the expression on George's face was grim, his greying brows furrowed, angular jaw set as his blue eyes darted to the side mirrors every so often checking for the inevitable patrol car. It was why sweat matted Alec's forehead, the tips of her short black hair plastered against it, as she tried to one-handedly apply bandages to her own assortment of cuts, a Remington GPC assault rifle carefully cradled in her lap ready to be fired at a moment's notice.

It really should have been simple. The operation as it had been described to them was to infiltrate a midtown storage facility and retrieve a package labelled "ME-C15" from one of the lower level secure vaults. It was expected that they would encounter some low to mid-levels of security, nothing that they couldn't handle. George would manage the tech and the locks. Her role was to point and shoot down anything and anyone that got in their way. Except less than a minute into the facility it had been painfully obvious that either their intel had been way off or else someone had tipped the other side. The place wasn't some forgotten storage center lost in the maze of Protectorate government holdings. It was a fucking stronghold.

Alec glanced at the small black box sitting innocuously beside her, the words "Classified" and "ME-C15" plastered along its front in big bold red letters. Whatever the hell this was, the Protectorate clearly wouldn't let it go so easily and they were sorely under-prepared for the heat that was undoubtedly already on their tail. It would be a miracle if they got out of the city in one piece, or as close to one piece as they currently were.

George pulled a left and banked the car into an abandoned building. An old factory back in the days when the city was still struggling out of its pre-Protectorate economic recession, it had yet to be re-zoned and replaced with the steel and glass monoliths that now occupied most of the city's 1,100 square miles. And there, hidden behind a black tarpaulin and some haphazardly thrown junk was their spare getaway car.

George killed the engine and was out of the driver's seat the moment they had made it far enough in that prying eyes wouldn't see them through the grimy and cracked windows. With the practiced ease of someone who'd done this drill many times over he pulled a power screwdriver from the boot of the getaway car and ripped out the license plates of the sedan they'd just been driving. In the same motion he plastered a fresh set of fake plates. It wouldn't hold them off too long but anything to confuse their trail helped.

Alec offloaded their gear from the now defunct vehicle and shuffled them into the new one. A quick inventory made her stomach churn. Two Remington GPCs with only one remaining magazine apiece. One flash grenade. One bio-material disintegrator. One set of grappling hooks. Two tactical knives. It was definitely not nearly enough to take on an incoming platoon.

As she stood scowling at the meager remains of their weaponry, George pulled up beside her. He pointed at her injured shoulder. "Take your top off."

She shook her head. There wasn't enough time. Any minute now the cops would barge in.

But he already knew what she was thinking. "There's enough time for this. We need to pop that shoulder back in. I doubt you can shoot straight with that thing protruding like some creepy doll part." It was the voice he used whenever she'd stubbornly refused to accept she'd lost a match, be it at the shooting range or on the martial arts mats. At almost twenty years her senior, he'd never been shy of reminding her that he'd been picking locks and loading bullets before she'd even entered high school. She may be more nimble and had the explosive power of youth at her side but he could still best her with his experience and tactics.

"Fine." With a long-suffering sigh, she started to unzip the top of the black polyester bodysuit, the cold winter air slamming against her bare skin like a body blow. She sucked a breath in. Despite the gravity of their situation, a small smile tugged at the corners of George's lips. With one hand he offered her a small plank of slightly rotting wood, no doubt fished out from the junk lying around the place. She firmly positioned it in the middle of her mouth, her teeth clamping tightly onto it. She nodded once to let him know she was ready.

He placed his hands on the offending area and with a crack pushed it back into place. Alec tried to stifle the scream that made its way up her throat. It would do no good to attract attention with her cries. Her eyes watered. The pain was a hundred times worse in that one instant, coursing like lightning bolts through her every pore.

And then they were off, wheels screeching at the hard turn as they shot out of the factory and into the night. The crowd had started to thin and they made better time than they had earlier. But the sense of dread that had been creeping up into her gut told Alec it was only going to get worse before it got any better.

And of course she was right.

A dull beeping sound alerted them to an incoming transmission over the comms channel built into their new ride. It had only three words. "Get out. Praetorians."

"Shit." Shit. Shit. Shit. The fuckers really had called in the cavalry. As the elite tactical unit of the military, these guys were no slouch. George floored the gas pedal. The knuckles that gripped the steering wheel turned white.

Neither spoke. They both knew what would happen if they were ever caught. Death. There was no two ways about it. That was the price to pay for being mercenaries, for giving the Protectorate and its fascist approach to peace and order their middle finger. Alec had once paid a hacker to pull up the rap sheet that they had on her. It read like a nightmare.

First name: Alec  
Last name: Unknown  
Aliases: Silver Fox  
Gender: Female  
Age: 25 (unconfirmed)  
Relations: No known family relations  
Affiliations: Black Sky Mercenary group (anti-Protectorate)  
Known/ Suspected Crimes: Robbery, Assault, Murder: First-degree, Terrorism, Destruction of Government Property, Extortion, Arson  
Total count of known/suspected crimes: 150  
Jurisdictions Wanted: All Protectorate-controlled areas  
The individual is to be treated as highly dangerous. All officers are ordered to shoot to kill.

Dead or alive. It was just like those old timey Westerns that George liked to watch whenever they holed up in one shitty motel or the other except their crimes made the evil villains in those movies look like amateurs. And if her rap sheet was bad, George's was definitely much worse.

The shrill sirens forced Alec back into the present. They'd come. She closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath. When she opened them, whatever concerns she may have held were gone. The only thing that mattered was getting out alive. For both of them.

She pulled up the rifle on her lap and rolled down the window. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. She fired into the approaching vehicles, the shell casings of the discharged ammunition pinging inside the car's interiors. They'd reached Hope Bridge. They just needed to cross it and they would be in the neutral zone, a hair's-breath away from the border that marked the Protectorate-controlled area and the massive sprawling slums that extended beyond Zion in a seemingly never-ending fan of maze like streets and houses piled up so close to each other that the end of one and the beginning of the other had blurred.

And then she saw it, the green tube extending out of one of the vehicle's roofs.

"RPG!" She shouted just as the rocket was launched. George swerved to avoid it but they were moving altogether too fast on the icy road. One minute they were watching the rocket explode in the space the car had been just seconds before and the next they were slamming into the bridge's guard rails, the car punching a hole clean through like a bullet fired from the muzzle of a gun. And then they were in free fall, the car and their bodies inside it diving headlong into the cold icy waters of the wide river below.

The second impact as the car hit the water sent a shock wave through the vehicle, lifting Alec from her seat and slamming her headfirst against the window. Even as her vision started to blacken she could see George slumped in the driver's seat, a piece of the guard rail protruding from his sternum, bolting him in place. His blue eyes were open, wide and unblinking, even as the water from the river rapidly filled the car from the broken windshield.

Alec choked back a sob. There was nothing more she could do for him. With a trembling hand she grabbed the package they'd given up their lives for and prepared to swim. She shook her head to try to dispel the impending loss of consciousness. She couldn't die here. She needed to avenge George. She needed to make whoever was the snitch pay. She pushed back the pain as her shoulders and now her chest started to scream in protest. The thought came as though from a distant and badly tuned radio - she'd broken a rib.

Pulling in as much air as she could into her lungs, she felt the last pocket of air in the car disappear. With whatever energy she could muster, she pushed out from the open window into the black waters. It had been years since she'd swam. It was not since she still lived in her family's ranch out in the country, her mind not yet turned towards violence and a burning hatred of the Protectorate. Not since she had watched her family burn, their glassy eyes staring into the flames licking their home of twelve years, an act, she would later learn, the Protectorate had ordered on a trumped up accusation that they had harbored rebels of their cause.

Father. Mother. Brother. Two sisters. And now a friend and partner. All of them lost at the hands of the Protectorate. They had thought they had been burning down rebels. They didn't know they had instead bred one.

Every muscle of Alec's body screamed from the pain of her injuries, the cold, and the exertion. More than once she almost lost consciousness, the river's current tugging at her, pulling her downwards and away. Each time she pushed it back. The words she repeated in her head gave fuel to her adrenaline. _They will pay. They will pay._ It was only when she felt her body heave up onto the dry earth on the other side of the river that she let the blackness consume her.

* * *

Legolas made his way through the forest unhindered. For once the guards his father had ordered to accompany him at all times gave way, letting him pass. What did his father know of his heart? Did he truly think that by isolating his people that he would save them? He loved Mirkwood. He loved the elvenfolk who had made it their home. It did not matter to him that he was Sindarin or they Silvan. But day after day he saw the shadow of the enemy reaching, creeping into the heart of the forest. And yet his father would do nothing, ever retreating inwards. Did he not see that if he failed to act there would soon be nowhere to run?

He paused beneath the towering branches of a tree, the early morning light filtering in through the gaps in the foliage in scattered patches. He was not far from the Forest River he knew, the murmur of the flowing water a constant but soft guide to his sharpened elven ears. He also knew that if he ventured too far off his father's guard would hunt him down. He sighed. The "lowly" Silvan elves who served his family's house had far more freedom than he, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood.

Legolas straightened the light green tunic he wore and turned towards the river. A splash of water on his face would do him good to cool the temper that simmered beneath it. There was nothing to be gained by returning to his father's house in the same rage that he left it. With knowledge born from years of walking the underbrush that surrounded this, his home, it was a simple matter to find the right path amidst the seemingly impenetrable gloom cast by the trees that surrounded him.

At first he did not recognize what it was that he saw as he approached the riverbank. From a distance he noticed a black thing, half in and half out of the water. It lay there unmoving, the river water lapping at it amidst the rocks and sandy earth. Legolas drew his bow and fitted an arrow even as he made his way towards it. If this was a creature of the enemy he would take its head and bring it to his father. Let all in the realm know that where they had thought themselves safe, the enemy had finally encroached into their borders.

But as he approached it became clear that this was no creature, it was a man. The clothing was odd, yes, all black and tightly encasing his body like a second skin but here and there he saw tears where lightly tanned skin peeked through. In one of his hands was a small black box with markings he could not make out at his angle. His head was planted into the sandy earth, his short black hair matted from water and mud. And blood. The stench of it came across clearly the closer he got to the slumped figure. And all the while the man did not move even as Legolas came to a stop right beside him.

With a boot he nudged at the prostrate form. Was the man dead? Seeing no response, Legolas holstered his weapon and bent down. With one hand he took hold of the man's shoulder and prepared to turn the man over. Or was it a boy? The shoulder in his hand was too slight to be that of a full grown man or even that of an elf.

He was definitely not expecting the feminine face that became apparent as he turned the body around.

A woman? There was no doubt about it. It was clear in the gently arched eyebrows, the long lashes, the oval face, the high cheekbones, and the soft full lips. But at the same time there was something hard in her features as though she had seen not only great hardship and sorrow but also war. Was she perhaps a shield maiden of Rohan somehow lost in the woods of Mirkwood? No, she could not be for no Rohirrim he had ever seen wore clothing as this woman did.

He pressed a hand to the woman's chest. It was there albeit somewhat irregular and weak - her heartbeat.

It was then that he noticed it peeking through the expanse of an exposed collarbone, black lines crisscrossing her skin. It did not appear to be from some malaise but something almost chiseled into it. He pulled back the cloth that wrapped around the sides, desiring to see more of this odd pattern inked into her flesh. More and more lines were drawn ever downwards across the left side of her body and through the entirety of her left arm. With his index finger he began to trace its contours.

His touch must have roused her from whatever stupor she was in for, as if on cue, her eyes slid open, one brown orb and the other silver-grey at first unfocused and then as one swiveling to pin him in her gaze. He watched the emotions flit across them, his finger still pressed against the black design on her skin, frozen in place as though by some spell. At first there was confusion, then suspicion and finally rage.

And before Legolas could react, she had straddled him, pinning him to the ground, her hands pressed against his throat in a firm choke hold.


	2. Chapter 2: Foreign Tongues

**CHAPTER 2: Foreign Tongues**

Her body felt heavy. She didn't think she'd ever felt this heavy, her arms and legs seemingly disjointed and weighed down like blocks of lead attached to her body. Something wet and cold kept lapping up her torso and with each ebb and flow sharp chills coursed through her. The blackness in her vision kept dragging her down. _So tired._ The words echoed somewhere in her mind, a distant but persistent thought. The dull throb in her chest grew fainter with every repetition of it. _So fucking tired._

That was when she felt it.

Softly at first, it was as if a feather was caressing her skin following some undulating pattern. It felt reminiscent of something she'd known maybe a long time ago. The word filtered through her consciousness like an especially viscous oil - _finger_. Her sluggish mind provided the rest. _Not mine._

At that something dark and bitter uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and snaked its way through her veins. The dull throb in her chest began to beat faster, harder. It urged her to wake up. _Fucking wake up._ She swallowed thickly, a sharp metallic tang in her mouth. She felt the coarse sand grating against her wounds and the cold unpolluted air pushing in and out of her battered lungs.

Finally, she opened her eyes and saw blue.

The man's eyes were like shards of ice. They appeared startled, his entire body frozen in place as though seeing a ghost. There was nothing familiar about him.

Her adrenaline and instincts kicked in overriding the sharp pain that radiated from her shoulder and chest. With a burst of energy she launched herself forward, slamming her body into his and forcing him down into the ground. In his surprised state his body offered little resistance. She planted herself astride him, keeping her weight firmly against his abdomen and her fingers coiled around his long pale neck in a vise.

"Who are you? What the fuck did you do to me?"

Her voice was hoarse and cracked with every syllable, her fury bleeding through each harsh guttural sound. She didn't stop to think if it was because of this jerk in front of her or if it was something else entirely she couldn't put a finger on. All she knew was that her entire being was filled with rage and this violence was the only logical outcome of it.

The man beneath her tensed, his eyes narrowed. Even though he was slight there was something in his fair features that screamed danger. She saw it in the way his eyes watched every twitch of her muscles, the way he never once tried to gasp for breath. This man knew death, had buried his share of bodies in unmarked graves. A shiver ran down her spine. Before she could react, his slender fingers gripped her wrists with unnatural strength and in one fluid motion tore them away.

Her stomach sank. This was bad. He could, in an instant, flip the situation around and unlike him she was less confident she could swat his hands away if he wrapped them around her throat. With a sharp push she flung herself backwards. Her bare feet crunched and scraped the ground as she created as much space between them as she could. Despite the long stretch of the riverbank there was only so much space between the water and the trees. She knew not to step into the water and the current that would drag her under. Neither did she want to move so far that she fell under the eaves of the trees where, with their tangled boughs and trailing vines, she was sure to get lost in an instant. Planting herself in the sand some feet away, she carefully angled herself into a defensive position.

From where she crouched she watched him pick himself up, his body somehow graceful despite his now slightly disheveled clothes. His blond hair fell past his shoulders. His ears, which she now noticed, were slightly pointed at the tips. He did not immediately try to close the distance. Instead the stance he took mirrored hers, body deceptively relaxed, ready to uncoil and strike at a moment's notice.

She was keenly aware that unlike him, a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, she had no weapon other than her bare hands or that odd box her fingers had wrapped around before she'd launched herself at him. Fat chance she could try to catch an arrow in her palms. The box, which lay somewhere in the moist sand and earth along the river, was too small and too blunt to serve as anything other than a paper weight. And a grappling match was out of the question as he clearly possessed far greater physical strength than her. With the corner of her eyes she tried to catch sight of anything she might be able to use against him.

In the meanwhile, to try and distract him, she renewed her demands, pouring as much venom as she could into each word. "Who the fuck are you? Why the fuck were you touching me?"

She watched him tilt his head, brows furrowed. He seemed to be debating something with himself, an odd look passing over his face. It was almost as though he was suppressing an instinct. Perhaps it was the instinct to put an arrow through her. His body loosened ever so slightly.

" _Im ceri ú heni. Man nár let?_ "

What the fuck was he saying? She scowled. But apparently she wasn't menacing enough. He took one tentative step forward. He then pointed at her.

" _Tarkil?_ " His words, spoken softly, nonetheless carried clearly in the crisp morning air.

She tensed. Despite the fact that he had yet to instigate a threatening action against her beyond the first, she wasn't entirely comfortable with him coming any closer. A few paces to her left near the edge where the river water lapped against the ground she saw a decently-sized rock. She slowly edged over, body slightly listing to the side, her eyes never leaving his form and the weapons still holstered on his back. He did not try to further close the gap between them but waited patiently. For what, she did not know. Was he waiting for some bolt of lightning from heaven?

When she came near enough to where she spotted the rock she bent further down. A sharp pain lanced through her chest. She ignored it. Her immediate survival was more important than whether or not she had some, likely, non-life threatening injury. Her fingers closed around the stone. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt a jagged edge cut her skin. It was not enough but it was better than nothing.

She held the crude weapon in front of her, sharp edge forward as though it was a knife. "I didn't understand a single fuck out of what you said. But I swear if you come any closer, I'll attack."

It was a mostly empty threat, she knew. In the end, there was nothing deadly about an injured girl with a small rock in her hand. But she'd be damned if she just rolled over and let him do whatever he pleased. She grit her teeth and prepared for the worst.

Instead, he paused. Was that confusion on his face? Shouldn't she be the one who should be confused? He had every advantage in this encounter. If it was her, she'd have used it ten times over. And what the hell language was he speaking? The guy made zero sense.

As if coming to the same conclusion, he shook his head. " _Razan phârë. Hi na róvan._ "

The shadow that had been on his face lifted. A small smile made the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. The action felt familiar to her somehow. She shoved the sensation down.

He looked at her squarely. " _Sídh._ " He slowly placed his bow and quiver on the ground. With his right hand he pointed to himself. "Legolas."

She stared at him. Legolas? Was that some sort of name? He looked at her hard as though willing her to understand. She glowered at him. What the hell was this sudden turn of events? Was this some sort of tactic on his part to make her relax her guard and when she slipped up he'd lunge for her?

The smile on his face widened the more she glared at him. Finally, he chuckled, the sound lilting. " _Man na ceri na i aew mi naeg._ "

Becoming more serious, he stepped backwards while repeating his words from earlier. " _Sídh._ "

When she didn't acknowledge his actions, he raised his hands as though in surrender. Then slowly, he passed his hand back and forth between them as though indicating the space that separated them. His voice, when he spoke, was sure and confident. " _Mellon._ "

Without breaking his gaze he once more pointed to himself. "Legolas." He then pointed to her. " _Cin?_ "

Was he saying his name was Legolas? And was he asking for her name? If it hadn't been herself in this situation she might have laughed. This was like a scene straight out from some corny movie. She shook her head. She didn't have the time to think why the reference to a "movie" felt like she was parroting some empty words that should have meant something. There were more pressing matters in front of her. Even though he'd put down his weapons she knew he could probably grab them and shoot her full of holes before she took a step away and made a break for the dense foliage of the forest that flanked the riverbank on her right.

His blue eyes never left her face. Her thoughts must have somehow showed on her face because he pushed the bow and quiver further away with the heel of his boot. He repeated the sequence of actions and questions ending with something that, despite the differences in their speech, she recognized as a plea.

" _Iesten._ "

She opened her mouth to give a retort before abruptly shutting it. What harm was there in her giving her name? She fixed her grip on the rock in her hand just in case she misinterpreted what he wanted.

She cleared her throat. "I am..."

Wait. Who was she? The pit of her stomach dropped. Sudden sweat made her hands slippery, her makeshift weapon sliding. She swallowed harshly. Was it normal to not remember your own name? She doubted. She once more cleared her throat and tried again.

"I am..."

Nothing. Not a single word or name came to her mind. Dread washed over her. She reeled. A piercing pain seemed to split her head in half. She dropped the rock in her hands and cradled her head. She pounded her fists against her skull, pulled her hair by its roots. She was dimly aware that while he hadn't moved there was a look of horror on his face. She opened her mouth to tell him to stay the fuck back but she never managed it. Her knees buckled, sending her headlong into the ground beneath her. The pain only escalated. It felt like a hole had been punched clean through her brain.

She screamed. And then there was nothing.

* * *

Legolas knew now without a shadow of a doubt that the woman before him was no enemy. Though he did not understand her words, the venom and anger that laced each he now recognized for what it was. Uncertainty. Pain. Confusion.

She was a bird, a frightened and injured bird, beating its wings and snapping its jaw against the stranger's hand that approached it.

He should have recognized the signs earlier. After all, he'd nursed enough creatures of the sky to have had his hand nipped more than enough times especially in his younger years. He chuckled to himself. Who would have thought that someone from the race of man would be so similar to a hawk or a sparrow?

He had to tread carefully. Not only did he have to calm her rage and skittishness but also make sure she didn't aggravate her wounds any further. It had not escaped his notice that she favored one side and winced when she made large movements that forced her to twist or bend her torso. She had likely broken a rib in addition to a sprained shoulder, the redness of the offending joint clear from when he'd studied the markings on it earlier. He would need to make sure a healer saw to them as soon as possible.

Right now he needed her to calm down, to understand that he meant her no harm. It was difficult since he had no common language to use that might bridge the gap between them. She had not responded to any of the Common Tongue, Sindarin, or Quenya he had uttered. He highly doubted that even if he spoke Dalish, Rohirric, or Khuzdul there would be any sign of recognition. Still, despite this handicap, he had no option but to try.

" _Sídh._ "

Slowly he moved backwards, making sure to make no sudden movements that might be misinterpreted as aggression. He relaxed his stance, kept his arms open. When he was certain he had her attention, he raised his hands in what was the universal sign of surrender. Perhaps with that she could understand the words that he meant to say with his actions. _I am not your enemy._ To reinforce the point he gestured between them. " _Mellon._ " _I am your friend._

As a further sign of goodwill he pointed to himself. "Legolas." _I am Legolas._ He then pointed to her, trying to make it clear that he wanted to learn her name. " _Cin?_ "

Legolas expected the suspicion at least initially but it seemed that wherever she came from there was a deep-seated mistrust of strangers. Or perhaps that was her own nature. Her eyes kept flicking between him and the weapons that he'd put down as though he might suddenly take them up and attack her. He pushed them further away, willing her to understand that there was no such threat to her person.

And like those birds from his youth, the only real way to get his message across was to repeat the words and actions as many times as it took. It wasn't as though he didn't have enough of that commodity.

So that was what he did. The same motions, the same words, the same expressions. He was prepared to keep repeating until nightfall when, whether the woman before him liked it or not, he would have to knock her out by force and bring her, kicking and screaming if she must, to someplace safe. He would not suffer her to stay there frozen in the cold night air and a forest that would be increasingly less friendly and open.

This time he ended it with a plea. " _Iesten._ " _Please._

She opened her mouth, no doubt to spew forth some obscenity or threat. Words aside, the force behind them and the tenor of her voice had clearly enough conveyed the strength of her convictions from the very start. But unlike before she didn't. Instead, she paused and considered. Her face relaxed fractionally, her eyes less pointed and her nostrils less flared. There was no indignation here.

When she did open her mouth, he leaned forward. Although the words struggled out of her mouth Legolas felt as though he was at the cusp of a breakthrough.

It was not to be.

Legolas saw her face fall. Instead of the rage that had filled her eyes up until that moment, her brown and silver-grey orbs were now filled with dread and a sense of horrified understanding. Of what he wasn't clear yet but the nature of it had likely everything to do with his question. The rock that she had been brandishing fell from her hand. She crumpled, her hands flying to grip her head. She opened her mouth but whatever it was that she had attempted to say died on her tongue. When she fell to the earth she convulsed, the knuckles that gripped her head turned white, her eyes darting wildly left and right.

Legolas sprang forward. The pain that was etched on her face was real. If he didn't stabilize her she would only injure herself beyond the point where a healer could do anything.

It was at the moment when he reached her that she screamed.

It was pure anguish. He almost felt her vocal chords being shredded by the force of it. It paralyzed him. He pressed his hands against his sensitive ears in an ultimately futile effort to try to diminish its strength. The woodland noises that had been a constant thrum in the background ceased as the sound echoed throughout the forest for miles. He saw that her eyes had rolled back until only the whites were visible. Then as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

He carefully bent down to inspect her now still body. Just as he had when he'd first found her he pressed a hand to her chest. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the steady beating of her heart beneath his palm.

There was no time to waste. He was not a skilled healer. Whatever it was that had caused her to go into shock was not just a matter of the body but of the mind. He slung his weapons back over his shoulder and, as gently as he could, scooped her prostrate body into his arms. He knew the laws that his father had enacted prohibited unwelcome strangers entry into their elven kingdom. He would face censure, he knew. But there were just some things that mattered more than abiding by laws and regulations.

* * *

The room was small and dingy. There were no windows to tell her the time of day. The walls didn't look like they would stay upright long, the paper-thin concrete pockmarked in several places. A single exposed light bulb hung from the low ceiling and cast a bleak glow on the scene before her. The two men who faced each other looked tired. The shorter one, his heavily scarred face full of barely controlled rage, pointed to where she lay.

"Don't tell me this was your idea."

The other, tall and too thin, scowled. "What would you have me do, Gregor? She would not wake up."

Gregor paced. With his spiky blond hair he looked like a lion circling inside a cage. His heavyset hands clenched into fists at his side before he wheeled around and jabbed a thumb into the other man's scrawny chest. His deep voice was icy. "But not this Klein! We do not know enough about the device. We could have sent her to her death!"

Klein scoffed. His boyish features, incongruous to his stick-like body, stepped away from Gregor. "And you think she would have lived without it? When she was found half drowned on the edge of the river, her body ravaged by frostbite and her injuries, do you honestly think she would have made it through one night let alone a week?"

Gregor turned back towards her. His feral expression softened. He bent down beside her and held her hand in both of his. "I don't know where you are. I don't know if you can hear me. But please, if you do, find a way back. We need you. _I_ need you." He squeezed her hand. The last thing she saw was his dark green eyes turned serious.

"Find the anomaly. Remember that. Find the anomaly."

* * *

Notes:  
 _Im ceri ú heni_ (Sindarin) - I do not understand  
 _Man nár let_ (Quenya) - Who are you  
 _Tarkil_ (Westron (Common spech)) - person of Númenórian descent  
 _Razan phârë_ (Westron (Common speech)) - foreign speech  
 _Hi na róvan_ (Sindarin) - This is hard  
 _Sídh_ (Sindarin) - Peace  
 _Man na ceri na i aew mi naeg_ (Sindarin) - What to do with the bird in pain  
 _Mellon_ (Sindarin) - friend  
 _Cin_ (Sindarin) - you  
 _Iesten_ (Sindarin) - please / my wish

* * *

Reviews are always welcome.


	3. Chapter 3: In The House of The Elvenking

**CHAPTER 3: In The House of The Elvenking**

Legolas ran. His feet barely touched the ground in his haste. He flew past trees, rock, and shrub barely distinguishing them. The morning had begun to wane and the midday sun blazed through the thickened eaves in ever more stark patches of light and dark. Cradled in his arms, she had begun to burn. Her skin, initially chilled by the cold air and water, had started to warm not a few paces away from when he'd picked her up by the riverbank. Now her flesh burned like live coals against his. Such a heat could not be good to a human constitution. Her eyes fluttered now and then but never enough to regain consciousness. Instead they were only a constant reminder of the far more searing agony he had seen in her face as she'd fallen.

Just as he crossed the threshold of the palace walls she began to spasm. Her arms knocked against his chest, her torso twisting in unnatural angles before snapping abruptly into a posture as stiff as a board. Legolas cursed low in his breath. _No, not now. Not when we are so close._ He gripped her closer to his chest. He pressed his lips against her sweat-matted hair. His voice, soft and low, quavered. "Hold on. Don't die. We are nearly there."

The healing ward, normally only a short distance from the palace gates, felt inordinately long to him. He had no doubt that the news of his return and of the body in his arms was even now speeding its way into his father's ears. There were enough eyes and ears throughout Mirkwood and the palace to have seen him. He had, after all, prioritized speed over stealth. It was all the more important that he hand her over to the healers before he was inevitably summoned to answer for his transgression.

At each empty hall he passed his breathing quickened. That he had yet to meet anyone on the way was not normal. At this hour there should have been far more activity.

Ten meters. Nine. Eight. He was nearly at the ward's entrance, the uniquely sweet astringency that forever hung in its air already assaulted his senses, and its white stone arches shot through with intertwining branches a welcome banner. That was when he heard them. Metal on stone, the pounding followed a rhythmic cadence that could only mean one thing - a squadron of guards in full battle regalia.

What did his father think he was carrying in his arms to have deployed so many armed men?

Legolas put forth a burst of speed. He rounded the corner into the curved columns that demarcated the infirmary. For once, Legolas was glad to see its spartan beds with their crisp white linens and neatly folded corners. There, Gwaedhel, the chief healer, and two of her apprentices stood right at the entrance in their pristine white robes, arms outstretched, bandages and steaming wash basins at the ready, clearly expecting his arrival.

Just as he was handing her over, a chorus of strong masculine voices rang through the room.

"Halt, in the name of the King."

Legolas spun around to face the twelve men in their gold metal plate armor, their hands gripping the hilts of the swords that swung at their sides. They came in formation, a double file that fanned around them into a tight semi-circle blocking the entrance and the only way into or out of the ward. Legolas looked at each man in turn. He knew each of these faces, had grown up with them, and swung his own blade beside them. But right now, looking at their impassive battle-hardened features, he didn't care. If he had to take each of them down he would. The woman was still in his arms and he could practically feel the life ebbing away from her limp limbs every second.

The elf at the center of the formation motioned the others forward. Though his stance showed his respect of Legolas' station, the hard set of his angular jaw made it clear that what he was about to do he had no choice in. Legolas turned to squarely face him. "Cúon, at least allow me to give up my charge to Gwaedhel before you take me away. She is in sore need of a healer."

Cúon motioned his men to stop. Taking off his helmet, shook his head. "Although the King does want to speak with you and it would be wise to hasten to the throne room we are not here to take you away." His slender, metal-clad finger pointed at Legolas' burden. "We are here for that which you carry, my Prince."

Cúon took a step forward, the grip on his sword tightened. The look on his face was one of deep apology. Even pity. In all his centuries of knowing him, Legolas had never seen him look as he did now. Legolas' heart sank. He knew what the dark haired elf was about to say before he uttered his next words.

"I am truly sorry but we have been instructed to take her to the dungeons and there to await my Lord King's judgement."

Legolas shook his head and stepped backwards into position. He could not raise his bow while he still carried her in his arms but that did not mean that he wouldn't fight. Cúon drew his sword as did his men.

"Stop you fools!" Gwaedhel's voice boomed. In the heat of the moment they had forgotten her. All eyes turned to face the matron who scowled at all of them in turn with her emerald eyes, hands firmly planted at her hips. Legolas winced. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Cúon do the same. No doubt like him, he was reliving memories of having been chastised by the healer for his own past injuries.

"This is a house of healing, not of war. Put your swords down or else I will throw you out of here myself."

The guards sheathed their swords. There were few elves that could command as much fear and obedience as King Thranduil within the walls of his own house. Gwaedhel was one of them. While elves did not die the way mortal men did, they still had the capacity to bleed. And any elf, be he highborn or low, would always be at the mercy of their healer.

Satisfied, Gwaedhel approached Legolas and placed a hand on his charge's forehead. The few lines that marred the older elf's face deepened. She lifted an eyelid to appraise the woman's unseeing silver-grey orb. Legolas could not help but shudder. She looked up and nodded to him. Legolas could see in her face that she understood the gravity of the situation. She turned to face the armor-clad men.

"This woman needs rest and herbs, not damp and dungeons." She waved a hand towards her apprentices who, clearly understanding what she intended to do, began to pack up their paraphernalia.

Gwaedhel planted herself between Legolas and the men. Despite her much shorter stature, her fierce nature radiated authority. "But if you must take her, as is your duty, then at least allow myself and my apprentices to accompany her. We shall administer her treatment in her cell, despite how undesirable a location it is."

Cúon paused and considered. No doubt he was debating with himself whether this was acceptable under the orders that he had been given. A short tilt of his head was enough of an acquiescence. Gwaedhel nodded her approval and turned to address Legolas.

"My Prince, rest assured. We will do our utmost to ensure that this woman is given the best treatment that we can provide."

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. His grip on the body in his arms loosened. He noticed the red bruising where his fingers had wrapped around the exposed skin at her sides. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding her that tightly throughout the encounter. He carefully laid her into Gwaedhel's arms.

"Thank you. I will see my father and then I shall be back."

Gwaedhel offered him a small, albeit somewhat sad, smile. "Very good, my Prince." Without further ado she walked off, her apprentices in tow, their hands laden with various parcels. Cúon and his men made up the rear. Legolas straightened his tunic. He watched them leave before making his own way to the throne room.

When he arrived, he found his father seated on his throne, his crown of gilded branches and leaves firmly ensconced on his equally blond head. He sat languidly in his silver robes against the intricately carved wood, hands resting against the long curved arm rests. Legolas was not fooled. The same blue eyes he had inherited stared back at him, displeasure clearly emanating from its icy depths and from the thin line of his father's mouth.

Legolas stopped a few paces before the last flight of stairs ascending to the throne.

" _Adar._ "

Thranduil inclined his head. From the line of his brows and the hard set of his jaws it was clear he already knew what had transpired. There would be no small talk. "What were you thinking, Legolas? After our discussion earlier this morning, you left in a wrath and now you return carrying a person of unknown origins into our halls. You, of all people, should know our rules on such matters very well."

While he understood the necessity of such things in the midst of the dangerous times that they now lived in, Legolas had never approved of the dungeons or the laws that his father had enacted. He breathed deeply. It would not help his cause now if he rose to his father's bait and berated him for his treatment of a woman who should rightly be in the infirmary at that very moment.

"Father, she is not an enemy."

Thranduil scoffed. "And you ascertained this how? Did that woman tell you herself?"

Legolas shifted where he stood. He knew this was not going to be easy. He would need to find a way to convince his father that she was no threat. He could hardly say that it was a judgement made entirely through his own sense and assessment of their unintelligible exchange by the river, that there was no objective proof to indicate that she was not an agent of the enemy or even an entity that would wreak havoc on their lands. And if his father had any inkling of the manner in which she had behaved, the way she had launched herself at him at the moment of her awakening, there would be little he could say that would convince him otherwise.

His father levied him a withering look. "By your silence I take it that she did not. And yet you maintain that she poses no threat to us."

Legolas nodded. "She is injured Father. Even at death's door. She could no more be a threat than a baby."

Thranduil slowly stood up and walked down to where Legolas stood. Like this, standing side by side, they were nearly of the same height. And like this, his father's voice, low and deadly, needed not rise above a whisper for his message to be heard. "And what then if she lives? If her condition improves? What surety do you have that she will not threaten everything that we hold dear?"

Legolas set his chin forward and stared back at the face so like his own. He knew what needed to be done. "I will ensure it myself."

Thranduil laughed but there was nothing friendly in it. "So, my son, you intend to take responsibility for her."

"Yes, father."

His father peered at him closely. Despite his intimate knowledge of his father's moods, he could not make out what passed through him in this instance. It felt as though he was being scrutinized and weighed. After a minute he stepped backwards and, linking his hands behind his back, ascended to the throne.

"And you wish for me to release her from her current custody and into yours."

Legolas shook his head. "I would rather we treat her as a guest and not as a prisoner."

His father's brows shot up. "And surely you jest." He gestured towards the towering columns, sweeping arches and gnarled tree branches that held up the domed ceiling of the throne room. "Is it not enough that you have requested her to live under this roof and not rot in our cells for whatever span of life she still has? We know nothing about her. Your youth as yet makes you impetuous."

Legolas held his ground. "Perhaps father but I stand by my request."

It had been many years since he'd asked anything of his father. They both knew this. Legolas had one last card he could play but he was loathe to use it. His mother. _She would have agreed._ He chose not to utter the words. If he did, though he might win the argument, he would undoubtedly have wounded his father. In the centuries since her death, he would not speak of her. Legolas knew it was his own way of grieving. And that even now he still grieved.

Still, as he knew his father, so his father knew him. The pain etched on his father's features was enough to tell him that.

And then the moment was gone. His father's face shuttered. "She shall be released from custody however she will not be allowed to walk freely in these halls without accompaniment. Any transgression she performs will be on your head. And if she proves to be an enemy, I will expect that you would be the first to drive a blade through her heart."

His father waved his hand to let him know to be gone. Legolas bowed before he walked away. He knew that this was the best arrangement he could get. At least for now.

Once he had made his way across the throne room, he hastened to the dungeons. While he trusted Gwaedhel and her abilities he was nonetheless worried. The symptoms of the woman he had brought in were by no means normal and he had a sinking feeling that whatever afflicted her was not something they had seen before.

The cell she was kept in was the furthest in. No doubt it had been specifically chosen. Even from afar he could smell the herbs. Sweet, spicy, astringent, bitter, heady, musky, musty - there were too many. He would not even attempt to give the specific names of those that he could make out. The cacophony of odors was too much. Legolas crinkled his nose. He did however break out into a half-run when he recognized the foul undercurrent beneath all of that. It was the pervading scent of vomit and sweat.

The scene that greeted him did nothing to cheer him. Gwaedhel and her apprentices were clustered around the woman he had brought in as she lay in a makeshift bed hastily set up in the middle of the crude stone floor. The remains of the herbs and poultices he had smelled from far off were strewn all about her. From the grim lines on their faces he knew that none of their medicines had taken any sort of effect. One of the apprentices kept laving a damp washcloth over her forehead while the other held her down in the midst of her violent shivering. The basin beside them no longer steamed, the water having clearly been replaced multiple times already.

Gwaedhel looked up from the rough-hewn chair beside the bed where she sat recovering her strength. It was the first time Legolas had seen her look this tired.

"I'm sorry my Prince. We have tried various healing herbs and spells but none have taken effect."

She pointed to another basin, partly hidden in a squalid corner of the small cell, where the stench of vomit emanated from strongest. "Although unconscious she would throw up the medicines that we gave her. The most we have been able to do is to administer ointments and tinctures to her wounds."

Legolas approached the bed and bent down on his knee and took one of the sick woman's hands in his. Her skin still burned from an internal heat that could not be quenched. They had stripped her of most of her garments in an effort to treat her visible injuries. A long white bandage was wrapped around her chest to hold in place her broken ribs. Smaller ones were dotted across where there were gashes and bruises including those that he had made in his haste to bring her in. And now, like this, he could finally see the full extent of the pattern on her skin that he had only seen parts of earlier. Like a thread or the roots of oak trees the lines intersected, bisected, and looped in what appeared to be a never-ending weave. And amongst that weave was a snake coiled around a cross. He had never seen anything like it before. It went round her shoulder and partway to her back, down the whole length of her arm, and part of her chest and sides. He noticed that the apprentices did not dare touch it even as they administered to her.

Without turning he addressed the healer. "I spoke to my father. He has agreed to allow her out of the dungeons."

Gwaedhel placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "That is good. We can bring her back to the healing ward where we will have better equipment. But I fear that even that will not be enough."

Legolas knew what Gwaedhel did not voice. This woman could die. She would die - unless by some miracle her condition improved. Perhaps Lord Elrond, master healer that he was, might know of a solution but she would never make it to Rivendell. Not in her current state. And no matter how fast a raven flew, it would be days yet before a messenger would arrive and even longer even for a skilled elf to ride hard for their city.

A sudden coldness in Legolas' hand pulled him back to the present. The hand he still held in his had suddenly turned ice cold. The eyes of the apprentices grew wide as they too sensed the change that was happening. Like she had on the journey back from the Forest River, her eyelids began to flutter, the whites of her orbs peeking through each time. The shivers that had been wracking her frame suddenly grew still.

Legolas bent over her and placed both hands on her cheeks. And just like he had much earlier he whispered his prayer. "Don't die. Please don't die. Not when we are already here."

A grimness settled over Legolas. He turned around to face the chief healer. "It's her _fëa_ isn't it? There's something wrong with it."

Gwaedhel nodded. "Yes. It is as if it is torn in two and the other half is adrift in some far off place that we cannot access."

Legolas grabbed the healer's hands. "But there is one way, isn't there. _That_ way."

The idea that had taken root in his mind was not something he would normally voice. He had heard of it once, while visiting Lord Elrond. The elf lord had told him of it not to educate but to caution him. As the master healer had said then, _This is not a cure, Legolas. It is a curse. Never perform it unless the situation is truly dire. For instead of one life, you would be trading two._

Gwaedhel blanched. She understood what he was asking of her. Her hands trembled in his. No healer dared do what he was now asking her to willingly perform.

"My prince, you do not know what you are asking of me."

Legolas squeezed her hand. "I do. And I intend to be the one on the receiving end."

If her face had paled earlier it was nowhere near close to the whiteness that now settled on her skin. The despair on her pallid face aged her in a way nothing else could. Her apprentices vacated their position by the bedside to attend to their master. Their faces mirrored their teacher's concern.

Legolas knew he should wonder why he was so willing to risk his life - and more than that - for someone he barely even knew. Except that in his bones he knew that it was right. That this, that everything he had done so far, was only right.

His voice was clear and confident when he uttered his next words. "That is right. Cleave my own soul in two and bind one half to hers."

* * *

Notes:  
 _Adar_ (Sindarin) - father  
 _Fëa_ (Sindarin) - soul


	4. Chapter 4: The Sacrifice of a Half

**Chapter 4: The Sacrifice of a Half**

"Please, my Prince. Reconsider."

Legolas gave Gwaedhel a small sad smile. "You know as well as I do that there is no other way."

He turned to the woman on the bed. Her lips were cracked and bled from the heat she had been giving off earlier. Her sweat was a thick film over her skin, now a pasty color as though all vitality had been drained from her leaving only a dry and broken husk. He did not know how long she still had but it could not be that long. If she was an elf he might have said she still had at least a day but she was not. He had no experience in seeing a human whose _fëa_ was in similar peril. He doubted anyone in their realm did. Even Gwaedhel, ancient though she was even for an elf, was at a loss.

Gwaedhel reached out and cupped his face with her hand. The firm pressure she applied with it forced him to turn back and squarely face her. Her mouth was set in a grim line as she scrutinized him. She did not speak until she was sure she had his full attention.

"Know this then, Your Highness. The pain that you will face will be unlike any other for there is no pain worse than the rending of a soul. There shall be no peace for you ever again. Not here nor even in the Undying Lands. For when she dies, mortal as she is that she will eventually, that part of your soul will die with her. Nor can you enter into a bond with any other. Your soul will no longer be whole enough for any union, be it with elf or man. And Mandos, even he, may not be so inclined to welcome you into his halls. And even then you wish it?"

Legolas breathed deeply and nodded. "Yes, I do."

Gwaedhel sighed. She released her hold on his face and let her hands settle on her lap. "I see I cannot dissuade you." A wry smile touched the corner of her lips. "You are as stubborn as you were the day you were born. Back then we had to practically coax you out of your mother's womb."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow upwards. Although he desired to hear more he knew it was neither the time nor the place.

"It would be best to perform the procedure in the healing ward where there would be fewer prying eyes and wagging tongues. My father would not look kindly at this plan."

That was, of course, putting it mildly. Legolas knew that if word ever got out to him no one would be safe. Gwaedhel, her apprentices, and any other soul who might be in any way involved would never live to see another day. The same thought must have crossed Gwaedhel's mind for she grimly nodded back. Behind her, her apprentices were swiftly sweeping up into their arms all their herbs and tools. Their eyes, although partly hidden in the fan of their yellow hair, were wide and bright with concern. Though neither could be older than five centuries, they had no doubt heard enough about his father's legendary ire to know the implications of what they were about to embark upon.

Legolas stood up and approached the sickbed. In much the same way that he had earlier, he lifted the woman lying down and tucked her into his arms, her head carefully propped against his shoulder. Like this the coldness that had settled into her seeped into his bones. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He hoped he was not too late.

The return to the healing ward passed without much incident. Evidently his father's orders had filtered down even to the elves manning the entrance to the dungeons. The two pairs of eyes that watched their progress with obvious distaste nonetheless kept their arms firmly at their sides, letting them go without any hindrance.

When they arrived Gwaedhel ushered them past the rows of neatly made beds and the gauzy white curtains that partitioned them. Her feet made no sound as she led them deeper into the ward. She took them through an ornately carved set of wooden doors at the far end of the common room and into a softly lit corridor. Her voice when she spoke barely rose above a whisper. "The private rooms are best for this sort of thing."

She chose the furthest of the five rooms. Here the branches that trailed through the ward's ceiling emanated from its source, a thick dark trunk that abutted its southwest corner and against which the bed's wooden headboard had been leaned against. Legolas gently laid the woman in his arms down amidst the pillows. Like this, she was dwarfed by her surroundings, her smaller body lost in the much larger bed that had been made for elves and not men.

Gwaedhel motioned Legolas to remove his tunic. "You will need to lie above her and press your own flesh against hers, heart against heart, limb against limb, for this to be successful. And no matter how great the pain do not move by even a hair's breadth from your position. To break apart and then stitch two souls together is no easy task and even the slightest movement can destroy the delicate balance."

Legolas pulled the long green tunic up over his head without a word and handed his divested garment to one of the two apprentices. He clambered onto the bed and slowly lowered himself down, aligning his body into perfect synchronicity with the woman's below him. Heart against heart. Limb against limb. With her faces mere inches from his he felt her breath ghosting against his cheeks. Her pert nose brushed against the tip of his while his long blond hair slipped down the sides of their faces like a curtain hiding this oddly intimate moment from sight.

It was not long after that he felt a pair of warm hands on his back, palms down. The slight calluses at the fingertips spoke to a lifetime of herb lore. From where Gwaedhel's hands rested he felt a tingle radiate, like a tuning fork that vibrated through him. And so it began. He grit his teeth. _Do not move, no matter what._ Legolas closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow down. He felt his heartbeat thrum in time with the beats pulsing against his skin.

The pain that bloomed in his chest was sudden and sharp.

It was a lance that pierced through his insides and like an egg being cracked in two he felt the fissures it created fracturing every bone and sinew. His heart began to hammer even as he felt it being squeezed. It was as though a hand had grasped it in their fist and slowly, agonizingly, began to crush it. His stomach churned. A roaring sound filled his ears and drowned all others. His body wanted nothing more to do than to curl up into a ball. He resisted the urge. Coppery blood filled his mouth from where he bit the insides of his cheek. He would not shout. He would not move. This was still nothing. He knew. This was just the beginning. Still, in a small corner of his mind he wondered if death might be less painful.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. Time had lost all meaning. Finally the blinding pain stopped. What was left was worse.

Although Legolas knew his body remained whole the entirety of his left side felt like a gaping cavity. It felt as though it had been gouged out where it had previously been, piece by piece, until there was nothing left. It was a yawning emptiness such as he had never felt before.

 _Eru have mercy!_ If he had to live like this for long he would undoubtedly go mad.

His body began to burn, the heat bubbling up in searing waves as he was cooked from the inside out. At the same time, icy needles tore at the edges of his soul, the jagged ends of where the half of it had been ripped out throbbed like a festering wound.

Legolas pressed his forehead against the woman's beneath him. The icy coldness of her forehead was a balm to his enflamed skin. Sweat dripped down his shoulder blades and onto their joined bodies, her chest bandages now soaked with more than just her blood.

 _This must be what she felt._ The impossible heat, the excruciating pain. It was no wonder that she had gripped her head and screamed.

The hands on his back began to trace patterns, elvish runes mixed with symbols he did not recognize. He tried to concentrate on the words that he understood.

 _Ëala._ Spirit. _Sercë._ Blood. _Axo._ Bone. _Yanwë._ Joining.

It was a mantra, words repeated over and over. And with each repetition he felt a calmness trickle in, like sand slowly filling the hole one grain at a time. He felt his breathing start to even out. The fever that racked his body and the coldness that had overtaken hers began to dissipate. Legolas opened his eyes and gazed down. Beneath him, her pallid skin had begun to return to the vibrancy he had first observed by the river in a time that seemed like eons ago. The scent of death that had permeated it began to recede. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt her blood pulse through his veins.

Legolas blinked.

Wait. Her blood through his veins? How could that be? And yet the sensation persisted. No, not just persisted, strengthened.

It felt as though he was at once himself and her. That the end of the one and the beginning of the other had blurred into nonexistence. He felt the pressure and weight of his body on hers. He sensed the way the callouses on his fingers chaffed her skin where he had gripped her. He bore the same wounds, breathed the same air.

And, with her closed eyes, saw an odd ruinous room with its two strangely clad occupants.

The men, as mismatched as could possibly be in terms of both appearance and temperament, hovered in the space beside her. The shorter heavyset man gripped his short yellow hair with both his hands as though he intended to tear it off. His heavily scarred face was twisted in anguish. The other dark-haired gangly gentleman was kneeling down, face grave with concentration, his forefinger curled around the wrist of the woman on the bed. No, not just any woman. It was his own wrist. Or rather her wrist. _His_ woman - the one he knew should be beneath his body in the healing ward and not in this strange room with its caged sun dangling from a ceiling that could collapse at any minute.

With a growl the blond grabbed the other man's shoulders and spun him around. "Do something Klein! We're losing her."

Klein glared, his body rigid. "What do you think I've been doing? I've given her what drugs I had. It should help to stabilize her condition. There isn't much else I can do at this point." He sighed. "I know you are worried Gregor but we need to let this play out. There's no other choice."

Gregor scowled but he backed down. Deep circles ringed his eyes and his hands trembled as they fell to his sides. "I don't like this Klein. It feels as though we may never get her back. That she will be lost forever in some cock-up illusionary world. Alec deserves better than that."

Klein massaged his temples. "I know it sounds paradoxical but the pentobarbital should put her in a deeper coma which in turn should protect her brain functions and give her the means to eventually pull through this."

"And in the meanwhile she will be dragged deeper into _that_ place?"

The sadness in Klein's face made Legolas' heart ache. "Yes."

The two men continued to talk but, as though someone had stuffed his ears with cloth or had thrown him deep under water, Legolas ceased to hear their voices. Nor could he make sense of the words their lips uttered. Only now did he realize that while he had understood the earlier exchange the words themselves had been foreign, just as that woman had uttered while on the banks of the Forest River. Were these her people then? He did not know what to make of what they'd talked of. Illusionary world? Did they mean Middle Earth? And was the woman's name Alec?

He opened his mouth to call out. He need not have bothered. One second he was staring at the crumbling walls of that place and the next he was looking at the long lashes on her face, the hoarse voice of Gwaedhel barking orders above him.

"Adabeth, Duirreth, help His Highness to stand."

From the gaps in his now lank hair, he saw her two apprentices approach. They placed their hands beneath his arms and with a surprising strength lifted him off the woman beneath him. They maneuvered such that as he attempted to work his arms and legs they could support him. It was good that they did. His body nearly collapsed with his first step. So deep was the exhaustion that gripped his entire body.

Legolas slumped against a nearby wooden chair. Gwaedhel silently handed him a steaming cup of herbal tea. The scent of chamomile and lavender simmered from the warm liquid. She looked haggard. Her face bore new lines, one around the edges of her mouth and the other at her temple. A wisp of white hair snaked its way down the side of her face. He had no doubt that he looked no better. He certainly did not feel like it.

"I assume that it was a success?"

Gwaedhel nodded and with a tilt of her head pointed to the bed. "See for yourself."

She lay in the middle of the bed, the gentle rise and fall of her chest spoke of simple sleep. He felt relieved. He rubbed his chest. A dull throb had replaced the sharp pains that had assailed his body earlier, even the desolation and the odd sensations he'd experienced after. He knew without a doubt that he was back in his own skin, his own blood, and his own mind. Still, there was a sense of connection, of oneness, that linked him to the raven-haired woman before him.

"So you already feel it." Gweadhel placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is only to be expected. After all you now share your soul with hers. That part of you that lives within her will always call to you."

Legolas felt her studying him. No doubt she, like every healer he had ever met, was cataloguing his current state, her mind alert to every nuance that spoke of the harrowing ordeal he had just been through. He sipped the liquid in his hands, felt the heat soothe his throat and invigorate his body. It was some minutes before she broke the silence.

"Do you regret it?"

There was honest curiosity in her voice. He shook his head. He looked up. The concern in her eyes shone through bright and clear as day. He smiled. He did not hesitate.

"No, never."

* * *

She opened her eyes to find a tall white tree-lined ceiling above her and a soft bed beneath her. She could not recall ever having seen this place. The last memory she had she was by the river and there was this strange man with pointed ears staring in horror at her as she fell.

With a gasp she pushed herself up only to find her senses reeling. "Fuck." She didn't know if she wanted to vomit first or scream at whoever was playing bongos in her head.

A gentle hand pushed her by the shoulders back down to bed. She twisted her head to find _that_ man seated at the edge of it. There couldn't be so many men who had the same angular yet youthful face, deep-set blue eyes, sharp dark brows, and long fair hair. She tried to pull out of his grasp and edge away but either she was so weak, he that strong, or both that he was having none of it. He eased her head back onto the pillows, the sleeves of his deep blue tunic trailing across her nose, making her sneeze.

"Where am I? What have you done to me?" She glared at him. Her voice sounded like sandpaper.

"You are safe. You are in Mirkwood in the Royal Palace. This is the healing ward. You were badly injured and I brought you here to be healed. You have been a patient here for a few days now."

She scrunched her brows. If she recalled correctly she couldn't understand a single word this blond man had said before and now she suddenly could? From beside her she heard him chuckle.

"Yes, it is a curious side effect of your...procedure...this sudden ability to understand each other's language."

He tucked her under a heavy white blanket. "It is best to rest. You are not yet fully healed."

She wanted to laugh outright. That felt like a tall order. There were so many questions that crowded in her mind. Where should she start? Questions like why the fuck did he look like he hadn't slept in days? Or what kind of procedure did they put her through? Or what the heck is Mirkwood and what royal palace?

Or, more importantly, what the heck was her name?

He stood up, careful not to disturb her arrangement on the mattress. With one hand he smoothed the small wrinkles on the linen where he'd sat. When he turned to face her, the smile he offered was wide although tinged with the same deep weariness that seemed to now hang over him.

"I'd like to introduce myself again. My name is Legolas Greenleaf. This is my home. And it is yours as well for as long as you desire, Alec."

She started. Alec? Was that her name? How did he know?

He placed a hand over hers. "Yes, I believe that is your name." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. " _Sedh._ I promise that no harm shall befall you."

She scoffed but her body had its own will. Her eyelids felt heavy. She knew she could not hold out for long. Her consciousness was slowly shutting down. She tried to keep her eyes focused on him even as they were dragged under by her exhaustion. He did not leave. He continued to hold her hand, his thumb tracing a soothing circular pattern on her skin. Her last image was of him staring far off, his blue eyes heavy with thought. He spoke what seemed to be a continuation of his earlier words, his voice so soft she barely heard it.

"Not now. Not ever."

* * *

Notes:  
 _Eru_ (Sindarin) - God  
 _Fëa_ (Sindarin) - soul  
 _Ëala_ (Quenya) - spirit  
 _Sercë_ (Quenya) - blood  
 _Axo_ (Quenya) - bone  
 _Yanwë_ (Quenya) - joining  
 _Sedh_ (Sindarin) - Rest


	5. Chapter 5: Interrogations

**Chapter 5: Interrogations**

Alec inched her foot forward. She tested it, gave it some of her weight, saw if it would buckle. It didn't. The hand she used to grip the edge of her bed lifted off. She grinned. To hell with staying bedridden forever. Two days was enough torture. Yes, the healer and her apprentices went out of their way to make her feel as comfortable as possible, even though, oddly enough unlike Legolas they didn't seem to understand a word she said. Yes, this place was peaceful and in every way a paradise. But something in her chafed at the lack of activity. There were only so many imaginary sheep she could count or minutes she could spend staring at trees.

She had spied a small mirror tucked away at the end of the room the first morning after she'd woken up. Since then she'd been itching to have a look, to see for herself the extent of her injuries. After all, from the way the staff here were behaving, walking on eggshells all the time, it would seem as though it was something pretty serious. Almost as though she had been on death's door. Though frankly, when she first woke up, she sure felt like she had.

She planted one foot in front of the other. No dizzy spells. No loss of balance. The stone floor wasn't rising up to greet her face. Still good.

The sight that greeted her in the mirror wasn't though.

She grimaced at her gaunt cheeks, her cheekbones a bit too sharply defined to be strictly healthy. A dark bruise had formed over her chest where she'd been told she'd broken a rib. Her shoulder was still stiff. There were scars everywhere, and clearly not just from her most recent brush with whatever the hell it was that caused her to look like death warmed over. What kind of life had she led before all this that she'd collected so many? Her empty memories held no answer. She fingered a round one just above her abdomen, its edges slightly blurred by the scar tissue. It was large enough to fit her finger. A particularly long gash snaked its way around her left thigh while a jagged cut edged her right breast, almost slicing at her nipple. But biggest of all, right at the spot where her back met her hips, was a thick bar of motley red skin where something had clearly burnt through. It was old and faded, the skin stretched as though she'd incurred it at a time when her body had yet to find its right height and shape.

"You should not be up and about just yet."

She whirled to face the voice, her body automatically dropping into a defensive position before relaxing when she saw who it was. Alec glared at the blond man leaning against the doorway before her, his eyes carefully and pointedly averted from her otherwise nude figure.

"As you can no doubt see I am fit enough."

She watched his eyebrow lift up. With his left hand he extended towards her the small earthen goblet at his side. "Your medicine."

Alec grimaced. Although she knew the foul-tasting herbal medicines were supposed to help her wounds heal faster it didn't make them any less disgusting. She walked over to where he stood and with her good arm took the proffered cup. She scrunched her eyes and shoved the contents down in one gulp. Although he still kept his eyes turned away he smiled. His other hand clutched a small bundle which he now passed to her.

"It would be wise to clothe yourself with something...decent. Since you are already up and about we may as well take a turn about the place. I very much doubt you would wish to walk the halls of this place clad in nothing but your skin."

His gaze briefly flicked to the flowing robes she'd decidedly ignored that was placed at the foot of her bed. She shrugged. She didn't have to explain to him what she thought of them. She could tell from his face and the ocher tunic and black riding pants in her hands that he knew.

Legolas waited patiently for her to dress. She studied him as she did. Gone was the exhaustion she'd seen the last time. Instead there was a certain lightness and humor that seemed to dance at the edges of his eyes, like he was in on a big secret that he was dying to express. The braid on his long blond hair had been newly made, the dark green tunic he wore threaded with small silver leaves. His posture was relaxed. He was clearly at home.

Alec looked away. While she would forever be grateful to this man and to the healer and her apprentices for treating her, it did not mean that she was completely comfortable with handing over the keys to her fate to them. Nor could she completely erase the sense of suspicion that lingered like a sour taste at the back of her mouth.

It really boiled down to one thing. _There are too many unanswered questions._

She tapped Legolas on the shoulder to indicate she was done. He turned to face her. His smile was wide, easy. "Let us be off then."

The little patch of stone, tree, and light that had been the healing ward was nothing compared to the rest of the palace. Legolas took her down winding stairs, the steps hewn from white rock, meandering with and along gnarled wood bridges. Thick tree trunks, their owners spanning hundreds of meters tall, extended upwards at every corner, moss-covered pillars interspersed with the beautifully carved columns and archways. Branches twined with rock, vines with statues. Lanterns hung everywhere cast a warm yellow glow in the midst of the shade. Shafts of sunlight poured in through the canopy above, the daylight creating patterns on the floor.

The men and women they passed, each like Legolas with fair faces that looked like they'd stopped ageing in their twenties, bowed politely at her companion. Most simply ignored her. Some, particularly the guards, looked on with thinly masked suspicion, their eyes following her every move. Legolas did not appear to notice, or if he did, he did not remark on any of it.

He took her deeper into the halls into what was clearly a residential wing, heavy wooden doors cut into the hallway every so often, each with intricately carved woodland scenes. He stopped in front of one of them further in. Here the doors were made of a darker wood, the door frames curved and carved with odd symbols and a flowing script she had never seen before.

"This is your room now." His voice was soft as he pushed open the doors.

The room itself was not as ornate as she would have suspected given the doorway. Instead a simple wooden bed greeted her, the only adornment a set of curling vines etched into the clean lines of its headboard. Deep green curtains draped around the bed, their ends tied back with a silver and gold rope. A dark wood bedside table was equipped with a small lantern. A simple chair made from the same wood was tucked to the side. White and green cushions added a touch of comfort. On top of a small dresser on the other side of the room was a familiar black box, the letters plastered on its side a reminder that she did not truly belong to this place.

Legolas tentatively brushed a finger against a corner of it. "When it was clear that you had survived the worst of your injuries, I went back to the river to fetch this. I do not know what it is but I believe it meant a lot to you. When I first came upon you then it had been firmly in your grasp even though you possessed nothing else beyond the clothes on your back."

Alec took it and turned it in her hand. The thing barely weighed anything. She tried to see if it might jog anything in her memory but like with everything else that existed before, it was all a vast emptiness. Gently she returned it to its place and faced Legolas. She breathed in deeply. It was time for some answers.

"Why?" Her voice was steady.

He stared intently at her face. The corner of his eyes twitched and his jaw hardened. He did not immediately respond.

"What do you mean?"

She closed the distance between them. "You know what the fuck I mean, what I want to know. Why am I here? Why did you help me when I attacked you? Why can't I remember anything from before you found me? Why can we suddenly understand each other? Why can't others? Why was I injured and what procedure did I go through? Why do I feel a connection with you now that I can't quite explain?"

He swallowed. At this distance she could see his Adam's apple bob. He looked down as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry but I do not know why it is that you do not recall your past nor why you came to our shores. I do not know why you bore the injuries you did only that they were grave." The smile that touched his lips was sad. "And though you were not known to me I am not heartless enough to leave an injured woman alone in a forest."

He turned away and approached the lantern by the bedside in quiet measured steps. His shoulders were tensed, the fingers at his side minutely flexing as though facing a painful thought. "I...We...had to...share minds...for a brief moment. It is an ancient method known to my people and the only way we knew how to prevent you from dying."

Alec surged forward and gripped his shoulder. She felt the hard muscles beneath her hand. She turned him around. The light from the lamp made the shadows of his face sharper, deeper. She searched his face but could gather nothing from it though his blue eyes burned more intensely.

She reached up to grab the side of his face, make him face her and her only. She would not let him look away again. He raised a hand to halt her. Her fingers coiled around his wrist. She pressed forward. "You saw something while you were in my head didn't you. What was it?"

He shook his head. "There was nothing beyond a jumble of images that made little sense."

She gripped his wrist tighter. He had to be lying. "Don't fucking lie to me. How else could you have known my name?"

He placed a hand over hers and gently pried her hand loose. He pulled her down to sit beside him at the edge of the bed. "Yes, I heard your name in the midst of it all but nothing else. Nothing that would point to who you were or why I found you as I did." He swiveled a leg so that he was facing her. "Do you remember anything from then?"

She balled her fists. She didn't. She shook her head. She swallowed a lump in her throat. It wouldn't do to be emotional about any of this.

"This...procedure...that you had to do, is it going to have any lasting impact?"

She turned to look at him. She needed to know. If he'd gone and mucked around in her brain she needed to know. If this was the reason why they could suddenly understand each other or why she now felt a need to be certain of him, she had the right to know.

Something flickered in his eyes that she could not read. It passed but not before it left a pit of anxiety in the bottom of her stomach. "No, there is not."

Before she could inquire any further a sharp rap on the door had them both turning. A guard announced himself, his armor clinking, and a set of twin daggers at his sides. "King Thranduil has demanded to see the woman."

Legolas sighed. "It seems my father wishes to have a word with you." He prepared to rise. The guard shook his head.

"Apologies my Prince. The King wishes to see her alone."

Alec turned to Legolas. "Prince?" This wasn't a joke, was it? The wry smile Legolas gave her was all the answer she needed.

"Unbelievable." She glared at the blond man seated beside her. This was the sort of thing she needed to know. Being saved by royalty was a heck of a lot different than being saved by some lowly peon. She rose to follow the guard. A hand gripped her wrist, keeping her from taking a step forward.

The concern etched on Legolas' face was palpable. "Be careful with my father. He does not take kindly to strangers."

She nodded before she allowed the guard to take her away.

The throne room was by far most impressive mix of the white stone and living trees she had so far seen. The throne itself was made from the branches of a living tree, its intricately carved backrest extending upwards into the ceiling where a multitude of branches bowed together with the white arches into a high domed ceiling. It sat in the middle of the wide room, raised above the gentle murmur of a stream flowing beneath the stone path that led to the foot of the central area where it sat. Ferns and lichen flanked the area surrounding it. And in the midst of it all, he sat. The King. Thranduil. Legolas' father.

The resemblance was clear. Both had the same high forehead, deep-set eyes, angular face, and imperious thick brows. A crown of branches and leaves encircled his head. His long blond hair stood out starkly against his jet black robes. With a ringed finger he beckoned her closer.

"My son tells me that you bear us no ill will. That we should welcome you with open arms. That you are no agent of the enemy. What do you have to say to that?"

King or no king that was condescension right there. She scowled at him and opened her mouth to speak her mind before she abruptly shut it. Legolas' warning echoed in her mind. _He does not take kindly to strangers._ She breathed deeply and, only when she knew she didn't sound like she wanted to throw him on his ass for his tone of voice, did she speak.

"I do not know who your enemies are but I am certainly not one of them."

She watched his face contort in puzzlement. Damn. She forgot. He, like everybody else, could not understand her. She glanced around, unfortunately Legolas was not there to help translate her to him and somehow she had a feeling that this guy knowing that his son could understand while everybody else, including him, could not would not be good for either of them. Wiping her suddenly sweaty palms on her pants, she began to gesture, to hopefully make it apparent that while she could understand his language, she could not speak it. The irony wasn't lost to her that this was precisely what Legolas had been doing when he first met her.

The king tilted his head from where he sat. The puzzled expression on his face was replaced with wry amusement.

"I see. You are unable to speak our language yet somehow you understand it. And so we must make use of alternative means for this questioning. I will ask a question. You will respond with a simple nod or shake of your head. Is that clear?"

Alec nodded.

"Good." He stepped down from his chair and walked to where she stood until there was less than an arm's distance between them.

"Are you an agent of the enemy?" Alec shook her head.

"Do you bear me and my people any harm?" Another head shake.

"Did you come here at the behest of anyone?" No. She shook her head. He peered at her then bent down, brought his face close enough that his lips brushed her earlobe.

"Do you seek a ring of power?"

Alec barely heard the words, so low and silently did he speak them. She shook her head. When he pulled back she saw the distrust in his eyes though his expression had hardly changed.

"Did you trick my son into bringing you here? Perhaps by playing on his sympathies?"

Alec shook her head. Did this man really mistrust his son's judgement so much? This was becoming ridiculous.

"Do you have any intention to die? To die a very painful death?"

She stared at him and shook her head. This wasn't ridiculous anymore. It was a downright threat. She saw a cold smile touch his lips. He knew that she was aware of what that question implied. He wanted her to fear him. He wanted her to remember that her life was in the palm of his hand.

"I am certain my son has informed you that I have no love for strangers who wander into our lands. There is far too much danger that lurks on our borders, within our very forest, waiting to devour our people at the slightest sign of weakness. The enemy has always been cunning. We Eldar have seen his hands reaching, grasping at everything in his path, his shadow ever growing since Isildur failed to destroy him completely. We will not hesitate to destroy you if you ally with him or with any force that threatens everything that you see before you now."

With one hand he grasped her cheeks, his iron strength bruising. He pulled her face until it was mere inches from his. His voice, when he spoke, was low and deadly. The skin on the left side of his face grew sunken, deep red hollows that exposed bone and sinew. They extended upwards from his jaw to the edges of his eye, the skin crumpling to expose the tissue beneath.

"And if you even so much as harm a hair on the head of my son, you will perish by my own hands. Is that clear?"

She nodded. When he let her go his face had returned to its normal state. "I have allowed you to live within these halls but at a price. Except for your own quarters you will, at all times, be accompanied. And you, at all times, will be watched. Do not dare to test the extent of my leniency. The only reason you are not rotting away in a cell or have your head chopped off is because of my son."

He waved a hand. Before Alec could blink two armed guards appeared on either side of her. It was clear that the discussion was over. Alec bowed her head as she'd seen the others do to Legolas and walked away, guards in tow.

It was some hours later when Legolas found her stewing by a balcony in one of the upper halls. He spared a glance at the armored guard that stood vigil at a nearby corner.

"You know, your father is a git."

Legolas laughed. "Yes, he can be quite...domineering. But only because he cares about this place and our people as much as he does. We are the same in that respect."

He rested his arms against the railing beside her. He pointed with his head at the spot where her shadow had earlier stood. Since she was no longer alone he had departed, clearly leaving the chaperoning to Legolas. "I see he has also informed you about your new living arrangements."

Alec scoffed. "Yes. He made it perfectly clear." She turned to Legolas. Though their exchange earlier had been heated he did not look the least bit offended. She rubbed her temples.

"You know as well as I do that I don't belong here. Even if I don't remember a damn thing about my past that much I know. I can't live here forever and be a parasite. Either way, me being here isn't good."

Legolas placed a hand on her arm. "I told you before that for as long as you wished it, this place would be your home. I meant it then. I mean it now. I also meant it when I said that no harm would come to you here. If you wish for my help to find your lost memories and return to the place that you came from, I will gladly aid you. If you wish to forge a new life I will lend my hand." He gave her arm a squeeze. A wide smile graced his lips. "Although I would think that learning the language of this place would, at the very least, be necessary should you attempt either. That and perhaps some survival skills."

Alec offered him a smile. "Yes, that would be best."

He patted her back and kept silent, turning his attention to the bright lights that swayed in the breeze below them. The king's words echoed in the silence. _If you even so much as harm a hair on the head of my son, you will perish by my own hands._

Alec clenched her jaw. She would survive this. She would take Legolas' offer, not just of one but of both. If she were to survive she would need to know both her past as well as chart a future. She would show the damn git that he was wrong, that she would not bow down nor break under his pressure. But she also stood by what she'd said. She did not belong in this place. When the time came, she would leave. 


	6. Chapter 6: The Creature Called Gollum

**CHAPTER 6: The Creature Called Gollum**

Alec tested the weight of the twin blades in her right and left hands. The arm-length blades were shorter and lighter than the swords of the elven guards but longer than a normal dagger. The lightweight metal gleamed in the late afternoon sun as she thrust them forward. They sliced the air with barely a whisper. One. Two. Three. She drove each forward in rapid succession, the jabs hard and heavy. She would never be as graceful as the Eldar who practiced in the training grounds around her but she didn't need to be. All she needed to do was to be accurate and deadly.

She lunged before stepping back, holding the blades high to block the imaginary onslaught. A quick parry before a riposte. In. Out. Her body remembered the drill, honed muscles flexing beneath her dark blue tunic and tight pants. She dropped to a roll before she leapt up to spin and deliver a roundhouse kick to the groin. But instead of connecting with the stationary practice dummy, her foot was stopped by the outstretched hand of Legolas.

"I thought I might find you here." Unlike her, he was not dripping in sweat from physical exertion. Truthfully though, she had yet to see him break a sweat since she first came to Mirkwood nearly two years ago. She doubted he'd ever had.

She sheathed both blades. With her other hand she grabbed a small piece of black cloth from the curved stone bench on her left and promptly began to towel off. "I have no doubt." The sarcasm dripped from her words. She pulled her hair into a loose knot at the base of her neck. It had grown out and now reached halfway down her back. "There can't be that many women with armed escorts running around this place."

Alec eyed the silvan guard that watched her not far off. His hand still rested on the sword at his side, the other carefully placed against the quiver at his hip. She had no doubt that if she had so much as looked the wrong way he would not hesitate to put an arrow through her throat. King Thranduil had made good on his promise. The only time she had ever felt both her visible and invisible watchers turn away was when she closed the door behind her in her rooms.

Legolas shook his head as he ushered her to sit down beside him. In his riding greens and with the pale blond of his hair unbraided he looked no different than the day she'd first met him. "There will come a time when my father will see reason."

Alec scoffed. She eyed the ancient trees that stood vigil around the edges of the grounds. "Yes, when I'm fucking dead. I have no illusions about that."

Legolas turned to her and placed a warm hand on her arm. His jaw loosened but he did not speak. He too followed her line of sight, knew what she contemplated. _I am only a passing thing whereas these will endure._ They both knew there wasn't anything he could say that could counter that. The fact that she would eventually die, if not from injury then at the very least old age, whereas the youthful face he presented to her now would never change, not even in another thousand years, was something neither of them could refute.

Around them the other elves continued their own exercises, oblivious to their exchange. In the silence she could hear the thunk of arrows hitting their targets. Alec balled up her fists. It wasn't like she intended to stay here long enough to witness any of that. Didn't she?

Legolas pointed at the small leather-bound notebook that she habitually carried at her side. "Did you manage to find out anything from today's session?"

Alec shook her head. For the last several months she'd been seeing Gwaedhel every week, the healer having been kind enough to attempt to cast spell after spell to see if that might dislodge any of the memories she'd lost. There had been precious few successes. She'd taken to jotting the few scraps of images and disjointed phrases down in a journal but there really hadn't been much to them. A flash of red in the shape of a cross. A burning building. The words "Black Sky" scrawled underneath a bridge. A golden ring in the palm of a hand. Blinding light from the end of a steel tube. The numbers 02391. Smoke. The scent of blood on crisp morning air.

Legolas squeezed her arm in sympathy. He'd warned her before that it was a long shot but he'd supported her nonetheless. Same as what he'd done for everything else she'd asked for.

Alec eyed him as she smoothed her hand against the cold stone beneath her. Even now she still could not understand why Legolas would suffer to involve himself with her. The prince was loved. She, on the other hand, was ignored as best or despised at worst. She could still recall the suspicious glares she received when he'd first started teaching her swordsmanship. Or the way the guardsmen's eyes narrowed even more when it became clear she was no neophyte when it came to weaponry. "I still don't understand what you stand to gain by helping me."

Legolas raised a perfectly sculpted brow at her. "Why must there be a reason?"

Alec sighed. "It can't have been easy getting permission for someone like me, an _aiano_ , a stranger, to wield any weapon. Let's face it. I may be able to walk these halls but this is no different from being under house arrest. I'm still very much a prisoner and that won't change. Not now. Not likely ever."

He looked away. An emotion or thought passed through Legolas' features that Alec could not place. She opened her mouth to call him out on it. But before she could utter a word, he lifted a hand up. _Dodging the question again, are you?_ Alec glared at him. _I won't let you go easy this time._ "Don't you fucking shush me, you ..."

"Be quiet." Legolas pressed his palm against her mouth to drown out any further words. His voice was sharp, urgent. Alec looked at him hard. Something had caught his attention. He was no longer paying attention to her, his alert gaze directed outwards onto the hallways beyond the training grounds. His eyes darted about, watching the movement of elves in the distance with an intensity she'd not seen before. Alec stilled. She could almost feel the muscles in his arm tense. His mouth thinned to a grim line.

He swiveled to face her but his eyes continued to stare intently ahead. "Wait here." Before she could protest any further, he grabbed one of the sheathed weapons in her hands and walked swiftly away.

* * *

Legolas saw the half whispers exchanged by the guards that patrolled the hallways beyond the training grounds, the way their hands tightened on their swords as they listened, the way their steps became heavy after they'd heard.

Something was going on. Whenever the news was passed on, the guards' eyes flitted in the direction of the palace gates. That was in itself odd. They did not expect anyone, not even from their kinsmen in Lothlorien. Still they must have a visitor. An unannounced and unexpected one. And clearly not just any visitor if their reactions were anything to go by.

With quick strides he made his way towards the front courtyard where the newcomers likely were still. With one hand he fastened the blade he'd taken from Alec to his side. It was shorter and lighter than what he'd have preferred for an encounter, having been specifically forged to her height and build, but it would have to do. The few words he snatched from the hushed and hastily cut conversations he overheard along the way did nothing to calm his unease. Creature. Foul-looking. Misshapen. These were not words used to describe a friendly face. Could Sauron have created a new breed of evil?

The courtyard, although rarely used, was well lit with lanterns in the approaching dusk. In the middle of the spacious opening was a throng. Surrounding what he could not tell amidst the densely packed circle of elves that surrounded it. Legolas approached. His fast footsteps raised tiny clouds of dust on the flat earth. The guards gave way to him as he barged through the mass of onlookers, all of whom had blades half-drawn or bows half-strung.

The first thing Legolas spotted when he got through was a familiar back clothed in well-worn leather caked in the dust and mud of distant travels.

"Aragorn?"

The Dunedain turned and gave Legolas a welcoming smile. " _Gwador_ , it is I this time that must impose upon your good graces."

Before Legolas could ask him what exactly he meant, Aragorn turned aside so he could see what was behind the Ranger.

The creature, for there really was no other term to describe it, was a gangly misshapen thing that sniveled in its bonds. Its thin emaciated limbs twisted and turned, trying to break loose of the rope that bound them tightly. A few lank hairs from its wrinkled head trailed against the floor. It looked like no orc that Legolas had ever seen nor any other thing that walked, crawled, flew, or slithered in Mirkwood.

The creature mumbled the same sentences over and over. "My precious...must find precious. They's took it from us, yes they's did. Must get precious before _he_ finds it, gollum."

It spat at them in between the obscenities and the odd guttural noises it made. It's overly large eyes were fixed at Aragorn's back in pure loathing. On instinct, Legolas drew the blade at his side. Before he could level it at the foul creature on the ground, he felt the press of calloused hands above his.

"There is no need to raise your blade, _hanar_. This creature, Gollum, poses no harm to you or to me." Aragorn gripped his other arm with a black gloved hand. "There is, however, need for one of your father's dungeons."

Legolas understood. Searching the crowd, Legolas nodded at two of the guardsmen. "Take this creature away." They bowed and immediately set out to comply. Turning, Legolas motioned at the familiar face of one of his father's personal attendants. "Gaelin, please inform my father that we will see him shortly."

With the creature taken away, the crowd that surrounded them began to dissipate. Legolas watched Aragorn take down his pack from the brown horse beside him before it too was taken away, this time to the stables. Although Legolas had not seen the Dunedain for some years, it seemed that the cares the man bore wore heavier than what he'd expected. New scars, the puckered flesh still faintly visible, peeked through his friend's shirt. The laugh lines of the man's youth had been replaced by the down-turned mouth of adulthood. And although his kind would age slowly, even the blood of Numenor could do little to stave off the few strands of grey that now graced the man's dark brown locks.

"Legolas." Aragorn's voice was pensive. "Things are moving faster than we anticipated." He slung the pack over his shoulder as he turned to the elf. In the darkening light, the shadows on his face deepened. "There are forces conspiring. The roads grow perilous, even for me."

Legolas peered outwards as the last light of the setting sun turned the horizon a dusky orange. Or was it from the re-awakened fires of Mount Doom? The elves of Mirkwood knew well the dangers that had been creeping stealthily and of late aggressively in the darkened spaces of the land. They hunted it as much as it hunted them. But Legolas had to agree with his friend. Things were no longer the same. The reports that came from the scouts they dispatched spoke of a growing menace that was palpable. The forest creatures had grown scarce, clearly fleeing from it. "Yes. The forest has been restless of late."

Aragorn shook his head. "It is more than that. I do not yet know what is coming but even Gandalf senses it. He spoke with such haste and disquiet when we last exchanged words."

"Mithrandir? How is the old man faring these days?"

Aragorn clasped Legolas's shoulder. "You will have a chance to ask him yourself." At his raised eyebrow, Aragorn pointed in the direction where the elven guards had dragged the creature away. "He is coming. He intends to speak with Gollum. He intends to find out the truth."

* * *

Alec seethed. She wasn't a dog that could be ordered around. Or made to stay. _Stay, good doggie._ That most definitely was not her. Hadn't Legolas learned that about her already in their two years knowing each other?

She let the elf walk some ways forward before she stood up, eager to do the exact opposite of what he'd expressly asked her to do. She followed.

If Legolas sensed her trailing behind him, he did not give any inkling. Nor did he seem to veer away from his intended course. If she didn't know better, whatever preoccupied the elven prince's mind and had diverted his attention earlier was troubling enough that he did not take note of any pursuers. The same could not be said of hers. She could feel them trailing behind her, ever watchful of her every step.

What she'd said to Legolas earlier was no idle query. In fact of late the thinly hidden glances of suspicion had grown. Even the servants tried to avoid her as much as they could. And when they couldn't, they made haste to leave her presence. More eyes watched her. She could swear even the birds that sometimes came into the palace were in on it too. And ever since the scout reports came in two months ago she'd seen a palpable change in the inhabitants of the palace. Legolas, even he, seemed more tense and serious these days.

She stopped when she reached the edge of the courtyard. Standing beside the columns that marked the end of the entrance hall, she looked down at the commotion below. In the middle of the clear earthen field she saw a large number of elves cluster around something she could not see. Guards and servants alike were congregated in a tight circle. She watched Legolas make his way through the crowd, every one of them parting for him with a small bow and a graceful sidestep. It was a few minutes before the throng began to break away, the outermost group first, like an onion being peeled. From the gaps between the bodies she could see Legolas giving orders beside a tall dark-haired man at the center of the ring. She was too far away and without the benefit of their enhanced hearing and eyesight to be able to make out what was being said.

That was when she saw it. The creature. For "creature" was the best way to describe it. It was all arms and legs, all bones and awkward movements. If it wasn't moving she would have thought it was a corpse. It struggled between the two guards that escorted it away from the group. With both its arms and legs bound it was less a question of walking as of being dragged away. But no matter how slim the elves were, there was no denying the strength they possessed. Despite the creature's shrieks and attempts to kick its captors, they simply handled him like how one might handle a newborn baby.

And as revolting as the creature looked, there was something in it that called to Alec. _Have I seen it before?_ Alec shook her head to herself. None of the images that she'd written down spoke of anything with skin as pallid and chalky as this creature's. Nor was there anything she'd seen like it in the brief time she'd spent in the palace. She had no doubt that this was the first time she'd laid eyes on the thing and yet she felt like she had. More than that, she felt as though she ought to know what that thing was.

The guards' path took them right up against her. Their armor clinked as they transitioned from earth to stone. She made way for them. As they half carried, half dragged the thing up the few steps into the hall and past her, for the briefest of moments their eyes met. Her brown and grey orbs and its egg-sized blue ones. The creature stopped. Its hands stopped its squirming. Its body stopped twisting. Its voice stopped whining.

That _thing_ stared at her. Through her. The voice that came from its tortured body was only a whisper. No guttural noises. No elongated consonants. Suddenly, like someone else decided to speak through the creature, the voice was clear and sharp as a blade.

"You don't belong here."

Alec held her breath, waited for any further words but the thing had resumed its babbling as it was carted further away. "My precious, its hurts us. Elves hurts us. It no fair."

 _What did that mean?_ Sure she knew she did not fit in this entire tableau. It was a fact that was rubbed at her every day since she came here. She was no elf. But there was more to it than just that. Did that thing know who she was? Did it know something about her missing past? She'd taken a step forward before she'd even realized. Behind her, Legolas was still with the newcomer. Their voices carried through the now empty courtyard but the words were unintelligible. She'd ask Legolas who that was later. Right now Alec knew what she had to do.

 _If it means that breaking into that_ thing's _prison cell is what it takes to learn what the hell that was about then so be it._

Without turning back, Alec broke into a run.

* * *

Notes:  
 _aiano (Quenya)_ \- stranger  
 _gwador (Sindarin)_ \- sworn brother  
 _hanar (Sindarin)_ \- brother

* * *

Officially back from hiatus


	7. Chapter 7: Verses and Tidings

**Chapter 7: Verses and Tidings**

The dungeons weren't so much a hop and skip away from the entrance hall as a long jog through branching pathways and tall flights of stairs that led ever downwards for what seemed like miles. Twice Alec had to double back, getting the turn in a corridor wrong. The first time she found herself in the kitchen where she saw rows of elves at trestle tables kneading what looked like flat circular bread. The second time she arrived at a warehouse where large wooden barrels that carried the pungent and bittersweet smell of herbs were stored in a wide room with an arched stone roof.

When Alec did finally reach the prisons, she found the entrance barred by four heavily armed elven guards. Slowing her run down to a crawl, she carefully walked forward. One step. Two steps. Three steps. But before she could move an inch further, the outermost two guards leveled at her identical spears, the cold steel tips brushing the bare skin of her neck and her midsection in warning.

" _Dár._ "

Alec smiled, or at least tried to. It was time to see if the elvish that she'd learned was enough.

" _Cen gador gwain ûn._ "

The slight crease in the guards' brows betrayed how badly she'd mangled the words. _Crap._ The sharp edges of their weapons pressed a hair's breadth closer, forcing her to angle her body in a slight backward bend while sucking her stomach in. She breathed in deeply.

" _Im iest na ped na i ulunn._ "

The guards' faces darkened. They understood her clearly this time.

" _Baw!_ " Their answer was short and equally emphatic. With the rear guards taking their stance, it was clear what the answer was even if she had not understood the word.

No.

Of course.

Alec wouldn't normally back down but she wasn't in any mood to have herself skewered to death or have an all-out brawl with the four of them. Besides, her watchers were still there, lurking in the shadows. She had no intention of giving them any cause for amusement.

Putting her hands up in mock surrender, Alec slowly stepped back. When she was a safe distance away and gave no indication of making a suicidal dash forward, the men stood down. Alec folded her hands across her chest. She was not stupid enough to charge in just then but she sure as hell wasn't over trying to gain access. She would be back. And she'd find another way.

* * *

Legolas followed a short distance behind Aragorn as Gaelin led the way to the throne room. They did not have to wait long to get an audience. The Dunedain's arrival, albeit unexpected, was not unwelcome. Aragorn after all was one of the few outsiders that Thranduil suffered to allow not only free entrance into their domain but also one of the few he deigned to speak freely to. He wagered it was in equal parts due to the blood that they knew flowed through the dark-haired man's veins, the birthright he was unwilling to take up, and the regard of Elrond who had seen fit to raise the man up as he did his own sons.

Legolas had known Aragorn since the man's youth. Estel they had called him then. It had been many years since he'd seen him last in Rivendell. He was certain the Dunedain had many tales to tell in his travels since. Legolas grinned. _This time it is I who has a tale to tell._ The Ranger had yet to be introduced to Alec and the thought of having the two meet added a spring to his step.

His father was not on the throne when they finally arrived there. In fact, Thranduil was nowhere to be seen. Gaelin instead led them to the antechamber beside it where they found his father, garbed in a thick velvet mantle, comfortably seated on the small chaise that occupied the center of the room. In his hands he held a heavy black and gold tome. Upon seeing them enter, he shut the book with a loud thud and set it down on the oak table before them.

"Aragorn. How time flies does it not? When last we saw you, you were but a boy and now you are a grown man. A man who brings a foul and detestable creature to our doorstep."

Aragorn bowed. "It is but the necessity of the times, my Lord. I assume you already know why I have come."

Thranduil tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed." He pulled out a small tightly rolled up parchment the height of a thimble from within his robes. It was a hawk's message. The thin paper would have been held in the small iron canister tied to the bird's legs as it flew across the miles of terrain that separated it from its destination. Now in his father's hands the small drop of purple wax that had sealed it had already been broken. The writing, even from afar and though small, was recognizable. Thranduil met Aragon's gaze with one of both grudging acceptance and curiosity. "Your letter asks of a favor. Had it been from any other mortal, I would not have deigned to even consider it."

Aragon's shoulders eased fractionally and a small smile graced his tired features. "And I can but only thank you that you are."

Thranduil lightly shook his head. "You can thank the grace of Elrond that I do." Without waiting for a response from either of them he stood up and walked to one of the many shelves flanking the circular walls of the room. From one of the upper shelves he pulled down a number of scrolls. He laid them upon the table and spread them out for all to see. Map after map after map of Mirkwood and its environs was laid out, the tell-tale annotations of the scouts scribbled in green ink across each. Triangles dotted along ridges marked observation posts. Rectangles and crosses denoted enemy units. And all of them were clustered around and spreading out in the southern forest from one singular point - Dol Guldur.

Legolas had heard the scouts' reports but had not seen the official documents himself until then. The tallied numbers and positions confirmed what he'd heard - Mordor had reawakened. Orcs were amassing in numbers that spoke of only one thing. War. And soon.

Aragorn studied the reports. When he looked up at them, his face was hard. "It is as we suspected. Sauron is calling to arms all his forces. I have been to the Dead Marshes and even from there smoke rises from Mordor. A war is coming."

Thranduil resumed his seat. "And is it there that you picked up that _thing_ that now resides in my dungeons?"

Aragorn nodded. "We have been hunting for Gollum across the vales of Anduin, Mirkwood and Rhovanion for the last eight years. We, Gandalf and I, believe that he holds knowledge that is vital to safeguarding Middle Earth."

Thranduil's eyebrows arched in incredulity. Legolas understood why. Even he himself found the thought that the creature held such vital information ludicrous. And yet the severity of Aragon's disposition and tone brokered no argument.

"Yes, as hard as it may be to believe. Gandalf will be here in two days to question Gollum himself."

Leaning back against the chaise, Thranduil steepled his fingers. With his icy gaze he appraised the Ranger. Legolas knew that look well. It was one he'd seen countless times as his father weighted the truth of the man presented before him as though he could see every truth and falsehood he had ever uttered in his life. He had seen many others, be it man, elf, or dwarf that had withered in his piercing gaze. Aragorn did not. The Dunedain held his chin straight and gave Thranduil a clear-eyed look.

It was several minutes before his father finally spoke. "And what knowledge do you seek from this creature?"

Aragorn was matter of fact in his response. "On what we believe might be a ring of power that has finally been found."

* * *

Alec scrunched her nose. There had to be a better way than this. Really. Except she'd searched for any other option in the last two hours and found nothing. Even the option of trying to dash in when the guards changed shift wasn't really one. These were no village idiots that guarded the entrance but highly trained fighting machines. They all operated with a precision that made finding a loophole, any loophole, to bypass them at the entrance highly difficult if not impossible. And they had far better night vision than her.

So here she was, with the only option that she could find. And it was not one that she particularly liked. After all, whoever dreams of having a roll around the mud and filth of a latrine in the hopes of clawing their way through the small, cramped, and stinky hole into the other end that connects it to the dungeons?

Apparently, her.

Because while she'd never seen an elf actually use one, they did keep a latrine handy for their odd guest or, in this case, prisoners. So here she was, neck deep in dried decaying sludge and trying her best not to breathe in the noxious and nauseous fumes that the slimy sticky walls were coated in.

Not one of the grown elves that resided in the palace would have fit into the space she was in. And she doubted that even an elf child, though they too could plausibly fit, would dare. Their highly developed sense of smell would make what she was currently doing nothing short of a torture. With her slight build, she could, just barely, squeeze herself in, inch by torturous inch, through the stone portal and through the chute.

She'd found the thing really by pure chance. She had wandered deeper into the maze of the palace both in the hopes of outsmarting her watchers and to find some way of breaking into prison. Although deep within the bowels of the palace, the prison was not, as she had originally thought, its lowest level. Underneath the grey stone floors of the dungeons were a series of small naturally formed caverns laid out in an interlocking maze. It was there that she found that because of her stature she could wiggle herself through cracks and crevices that the elves following her could not. And it was also there that she found what amounted to the elvish version of a sewage system.

Alec made her way through the bramble and tree roots that filled up the room. She figured they acted as natural filters for whatever waste was released into the cavern. It was in the far corner that she found the stone chute. The foul odor that emanated from it that no amount of tree bark or leaf could hide amounted only to one thing. So she did the only thing she could do in those circumstances. She took off her sword, pinched her nose, closed her eyes, and began to climb.

Now, a further full half hour later by her reckoning, she was near the top of the latrine chute. With a big heave, she pushed her right arm upwards as far as she could. At first she only felt more sludge under her fingertips. Then, just as she resigned herself to spending more time clawing upwards, she felt it.

 _Finally._ The stone walls curved outwards onto an edge. Alec redoubled her upward climb. Her arms and thighs ached from the strain of holding her up against the downward pull of gravity. She ignored the burn on her muscles as she pressed her body hard against the iron bars that grilled the top of the hole. She sighed in relief when, after several attempts to get the rusted metal to budge, she heard the unmistakable groan and pop of metal being unhinged. The first lungful of fresh air she took after she'd pushed her body up and out had never been sweeter.

 _Fuck._ Alec refrained from glancing down from where she came. _Never again will I do something like that._

But, despite the ordeal, Alec had gotten to where she wanted to go. She was in a recessed corner of the prisons. Iron rings mounted onto the walls above and around her were scratched with use. Some still even had chains where they had tied the prisoners to prevent them from escaping, presumably down the very hole that she had just clambered up through.

Right now however the prison had only one occupant. The _thing_ that she'd earlier seen in the courtyard squatted by edge of the cell it was in. Its robin-egg blue eyes watched her every move with a languid uncaring similar to how one might watch the movements of an ant. She shivered as she approached it.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'You don't belong here'?" Although Alec pitched her whispered inquiry low her voice echoed in the empty space. She looked up sharply towards the entryway. She half expected the guards stationed above to come crashing down and lock her up beside the creature she was now conversing with.

Or at least, she hoped to be conversing. The misshapen and gangly creature before her just tilted its head and stared back at her, uncomprehending.

"Who are you? What do you know about me?"

Silence. The thing extended a bony finger to trace the outlines of the prison bars separating them. It extended a long pale red tongue and licked the grey metal in one long swipe. It made a disgusted face, as though the taste had not suited it, before it jammed its features against the small opening between two. "Them's elves locking us up's no fair, my precious. We's want our own cave. No fresh fishies here. We wants us nice juicy fishies. Gollum."

Alec bent down and rattled the bars in front of her. Maybe to scare it. Partly due to her frustration. She did not have much time. Any second now the guards would come. She needed to know the truth. Her voice dripped venom and authority.

" _Treneri nin._ "

It rolled its eyes. "Lost. Isn't she, my precious?" It softly laughed, the dry cackle reverberated in the musty air and made the hairs at the back of Alec's neck rise.

The _thing_ before her squeezed its face even more through the bars. Its emaciated head was stretched and like leather over a drum its pockmarked skin thinned across its skull. It bared its crooked teeth in a parody of a smile.

 _"Fear the man with the sunken blue eyes_  
 _Pity him who offers him aid_  
 _For he will snatch the little lassie away_  
 _Whisk her to live in his dark little cave_  
 _With its smell of fishes and lies."_

It spoke the words in a shrill sing-song. At the end of the verse it laughed once more. The edges of its ribs stuck out of its chest with every loud burst. Alec tried to reach through the bars to clamp its mouth shut. It only laughed louder. She backed away. Over the din the pound of metal on stone alerted Alec that finally the guards had come. Just as soon as the footsteps approached the _thing_ stopped its cackles abruptly, pressed a long finger over its chapped lips, and turned to face the cell's interior wall.

Alec shifted to face the elvish infantry that had come, her palms held up in surrender. She kept her eyes firmly planted to the ground. _Shit._ There wasn't anything she could say that would make her situation any better. They were, after all, catching her red-handed.

"And who do we have here?"

At the unfamiliar voice Alec looked up. Beside the unamused elven guards in their plate mail was the same dark-haired man whom Legolas had been speaking to earlier. Unlike his elven escorts, the man looked like he was deciding whether to pull out the sword that hung by his side, turn away from the foul stench of excrement that she was no doubt exuding, or laugh out loud at the absurdity of the sight.

Alec slowly stood up from where she was bent. Her height barely grazed his sternum. Up close she saw that he had handsome features beneath his rugged exterior. The crust of mud at the soles of his boots told her of long travels abroad. He held himself casually like all the best warriors. She had no doubt he could run her though with the long sword at his side without breaking a sweat. She resisted the urge to test it.

" _Elvellon._ Alec _na mui est._ "

The man before her crossed his arms across the leather traveling armor he wore over his wide chest. "And what is an _elf-friend_ doing here, sneaking around in the dungeons without any permission."

A movement to her right caught her attention. In its cell the creature half turned to her and shook its head before retreating further into the shadows. _Yes,_ she agreed, _he doesn't need to know why._ Alec kept her voice light, unconcerned. "To see an interesting creature. I had heard the rumors."

"And you were so desperate to see it that you had to make your way in through, unless I am mistaken, the latrine."

Alec shrugged her shoulders. With one hand she attempted to brush away some of the flakes from the chute that had stuck to her clothes. "Well, what can I say? _Minai ulunn._ "

His eyes narrowed. He did not buy her statement. One of the elves beside the man whispered into his left ear. He spoke so fast and softly that she barely caught his words. "She is Legolas' charge."

The man looked at her sharply. "Perhaps we shall let him figure out what to do with you. Either that or the king." Without another word he turned aside to usher her out.

As Alec began to walk away she distinctly heard the _thing_ in the cell behind her snicker. Its last cryptic words filled the empty space between them. _Fear the man with the sunken blue eyes..._

It did not escape her notice that the deep-set eyes of the man who now led the way out were a clear and unmistakable shade of blue.

* * *

Notes:  
 _Dár (Sindarin)_ \- halt  
 _Cen gador gwain ûn (Sindarin)_ \- See prison new creature  
 _Im iest na ped na i ulunn (Sindarin)_ \- I wish to speak with the hideous creature  
 _Baw! (Sindarin)_ \- No!  
 _Treneri nin (Sindarin)_ \- Tell me.  
 _Elvellon (Sindarin)_ \- Elf-friend  
 _na mui est (Sindarin)_ \- is my name  
 _minai ulunn (Sindarin)_ \- unique hideous creature


End file.
